


Good, Clean Fun

by Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (manka)



Series: Paragon of Their Kind 2020 Exchange [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bath Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hawke is a menace, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Oral Sex, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Vaginal Sex, Varric Tethras Is So Done, it is good clean fun because they're in a bath right, shameless smut for shameless sluts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27465712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/pseuds/Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold
Summary: Viscount Varric Tethras has a date with the Champion of Kirkwall and his opulent bathtub for some good, clean fun.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Series: Paragon of Their Kind 2020 Exchange [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036824
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34
Collections: A Paragon of Their Kind Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange





	Good, Clean Fun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LauraEMoriarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraEMoriarty/gifts).



> Happy dwarves-giving, Laur! <3

Varric Tethras had a date with the Champion of Kirkwall, and Bran was the only thing that stood in his way. 

Which was unfortunate for Bran, really, because Varric was completely out of patience. 

After all, he’d done his duty. He put on the Viscount’s crown, sunk his fortune into repairs, spent mind-numbing hours pouring over contracts and treaties, and charmed the right people at the right parties. 

Fuck, he even threw his _own_ damn parties and hadn’t even shot a single person. 

But Varric was going to have to draw the line, especially at the threshold of the Viscount’s quarters when Bran tried to surge past him, still talking the whole time. Varric threw his arm out to stop him, lifting an eyebrow at the bewildered expression on the Seneschal's face. 

“I’m afraid you’re too tall for this party, Bran.” Varric insisted. “But you’re in luck. The Blooming Rose hasn’t started charging by the inch yet.” 

He paused, considering. “Although, depending on what they were measuring…” 

Bran sputtered, ears glowing red. “Despite your vulgarity, my lord, I’m afraid there is much to do and-”

“I can guarantee you, it’s only going to get more vulgar inside my bedroom. Better carry your propriety back down all those blighted stairs.” 

Bran crossed his arms over his narrow chest and glared down his beaky nose. “I insist I-” 

“Varric?” A smoky, sultry voice called from inside the bedroom. “You’re _late_.” 

The best thing about that voice was the way it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle with electric anticipation. The _second-best_ quality was the way it always drained the color right out of Bran’s face.

“So you gonna tell her you’re holding her favorite dwarf hostage, or should I?” Varric asked pleasantly. 

Bran did the wise thing and took a step back. “I will be rousing you promptly at-” 

“Remember Bran,” Varric smirked, grabbing the door with his hand. “She sleeps here sometimes too and she’s _not_ a morning person.” 

With that parting gift of advice, Varric slammed the door shut on Bran’s pompous face. 

_Finally, peace and quiet._

Except, of course, for the laughter and splash of water that drifted from deeper within his suite. “Is he gone? Am I allowed to be _utterly_ disgraceful now?” 

The sweetest sound in the world, even after all these years. He began to untie the sash from his waist while he meandered through his comfortable rooms. It wasn’t as homey as the Hanged Man, but he’d done as much as he could to make the whole thing look _less_ like an imposing Tevinter fortress and more like _him_.

Well. If he was honest, _them_. 

Which was why he did insist on one tiny, inconsequential indulgence. 

His sash dropped to the floor and he ripped off his tunic just as he walked into the sinfully opulent washroom. 

A wide tub, sunk into the floor, was filled with water. Steam curled lazily into the air, making the whole room hazy and humid, softening the vibrant tiles and stacks of soft linens next to baskets of sweet smelling herbs. 

It was his favorite room in the whole damn keep, particularly when it contained one beautiful human with a wicked come-hither grin splitting her face. She lazed at the edge of the tub, arms crossed, a glass of wine between her slim fingers. 

“Varric,” Hawke began, wrangling her face back into a mask of severity that didn’t hide the sparkle in her blue eyes. “You always gonna threaten Bran with little ol’ me?” 

He dropped the tunic on a bench and shrugged. “You know I’m a man who likes to press his advantages.” 

She waggled her eyebrows absolutely salaciously, bringing red wine to ruby lips while she raked her gaze over his hairy chest. “And what advantages they are, serah. Tell me, who have you dazzled with your chest hair today?” 

“Besides you?” He asked. 

Her lips twitched and she shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not dazzled _yet_ , Varric. I’m no wide eyed Ferelden ingenue taken in by the world-weary merchant with a heart of gold anymore.” 

He didn’t laugh. Barely. “How _dare_ you pretend that you were _ever_ an ingenue, Waffles.” 

She cackled in delight, setting her wine glass down with a resounding clink and splashing away from the edge of the tub towards the deeper center. “Best come teach me a lesson then, _Viscount_.” 

The _only_ time he liked being called Viscount was when Hawke did it, with that mocking edge that made it into their own private joke. It was the _exact_ same way he called her Champion. 

He tugged at his laces slowly, watching the dark haired beauty slip beneath the clear surface of the water. It rippled above her head as his breeches sagged and he sat on the bench to tug off his boots.

A stream of bubbles burst to the surface, followed by Hawke herself. She pushed slick hair away from her face, eyes seeking and finding him immediately. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. 

Andraste’s ass, she was beautiful. Beads of water running down her cheek, her freckled shoulders, gathering on the sweep of her lashes. She looked like a wild, ancient goddess. A huntress, perhaps, and suddenly he desperately wished for a pen or-

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Hawke slammed her hand down, sending a spray of water in his direction, soaking him from head to toe. “Get your head out of your ass and come take a bath with me.” 

He wiped water off his face, laughing. “Alright, Hawke. Have it your way.” 

She looked utterly unashamed while he stood and divested himself of his pants. In fact, she looked rather pleased with herself when she answered serenely. “I always do.” 

_Didn’t he know it._

The water was _just_ the right temperature when he sunk into it with a filthy moan. The benefit of having his own little mage firecracker, he supposed. One of _many_. 

The other benefit was the way Hawke slipped into his arms in a heartbeat, wet and willing, arms around his neck and legs wrapping his waist. Her mouth found his, demanding and bruising at the same time his thick fingers sunk into the plush curve of her ass. 

She drew back just far enough to nip at his lip, slyly smirking when he shuddered. “Glad to know _I_ didn’t exceed the maximum height requirement, Varric.” 

He was already growing hard, the way he _always_ did when she started her unique brand of mischief. He growled when she rolled her hips, pressing her slick breasts against his chest. “I’d have made an exception for you.” 

The fire in her eyes made his spine tingle. “Kind of you, Serah, but I’d like you to know there’ll be no discounts if _I_ start charging by the inch.” 

“It’d be worth the fortune I’d have to pay.” He claimed breathlessly, using his hold on her to tease his hardening length. “I’d give you every last copper.” 

She ghosted her lips over his stubbled jaw to his ear and whispered into it. “What if I just want that silver tongue?” 

“Already yours, beautiful.” 

He spun in the water, backing her against the rim of their oasis and hosting her up onto it with nothing but brute strength. Water sloshed over his chest, his shoulders, while Hawke’s nimble fingers raked through his hair. 

Her legs fell open like magic, exposing the dark curls hiding her center. Varric’s mouth watered and his cock throbbed in the steaming water, dangerously insistent. He’d get to it, but first…

Well, first he was going to make his Hawke sing. 

His hands gripped her thighs and tugged her right to the edge. She had to catch herself on her palms, laughing wildly to the ceiling. Her skin was warm and smelled of lavender, iron, and something uniquely her underneath all of it.

He’d know her scent anywhere, the same way he’d know the way her trilling laugh trailed off onto a throaty gasp when his lips brushed the sensitive skin of her thigh. The way her flesh pebbled beneath his rough fingers when he trailed them up her ribs to reverently grope the perfect tits she boasted…

All of it was a story he’d told a thousand times, would tell a thousand more, and never, _ever_ get bored of it. 

He brushed his lips just over the line of her pelvic bone before descending down the other thigh, sucking a bruising kiss just above her knee while she squirmed above him, long legs trying to curve around him, guiding him closer to where she needed him. 

He pressed his hands firmly onto her twitching thighs and shot her an aggrieved look. “Hawke, why can’t you _ever_ sit still?” 

“Because you’ve kept me _waiting_ to play paperwork with Bran!” Hawke huffed, irritated. “And now you’re _teasing_ me.” 

“I’m _savoring_ ,” he protested. 

She hissed through gritted teeth. “Savor. _Later_.”

He rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss on the gentle curve of her stomach. 

“ _Varric_ , I will burn off-” 

Before she could finish the threat against his most compelling feature, he sank his lips to the juncture of her thighs and licked a broad stripe down her slit. She tasted of the herbs scenting the water, but also the pleasant sweetness of her arousal. He groaned and tipped her hips up, burying his face between her thighs. 

He was _instantly_ rewarded with a moan that reverberated against the tile while he began to devour his Hawke with gusto. She gripped the slick tile, nails scrabbling, while his famous tongue delved past her delicate folds. 

Hawke’s moans took the shape of his name while he lapped, hips trying to buck beneath his steely grip, always desperate to chase her own pleasure. If he didn’t hold her to the plan, she’d go veering off, always with unpredictable results. 

Sometimes, like in all things Hawke, those results were _fantastic_. Buried treasure. Endless ale. The best orgasm of his life. 

Other times, he ended up with his chest hair singed and covered in demon goop. 

Luckily, Hawke didn’t mind being held down. The more she struggled and whimpered, the firmer his grip got, the _wetter_ she became. The taste of her on his tongue was electric, the sounds she made _delightful_. 

He circled her clit with his tongue and listened to her wail her approval just before sucking it between his lips and applying the perfect amount of pressure to have her shatter around him _screaming_. Her voice echoed off the walls, a tiny flame burst to life at her fingertips, and he happily held her still while he lapped at the mess between her thighs. 

When she finally slumped backwards, he threw an arm around her waist and _dragged_ her back into the pool with him. 

His cock throbbed insistently, but he ignored it to dig his fingers into the dark hair already drying and curling around her face. Hawke moaned while he found her lips and laid claim to them. 

She returned his intensity with her own passion, beginning to wind around him again, slick cunt gliding over his cock. They broke apart, gasping, staring at each other. 

“We really gonna fuck in this bathtub again, Waffles?” Varric breathed, breaking off into a broken groan when she bucked against him. 

Her eyes narrowed, holding his while she tangled her fine, staff calloused fingers in his hair. “I thought that’s the only reason we _take_ baths?” 

Who was he to argue with the Champion of Kirkwall, particularly when she was so convincing? 

“Hang on Elodie,” He murmured, nipping at her chin, given name slipping from between his lips before he could stop it. It spoke to the intimacy of the moment that Hawke didn’t _immediately_ smite him. “We’re going for a ride.” 

“Thank the _Maker_.” She swore, pressing her lips back to his. 

It took one smooth movement to adjust her hips and only one thrust to bury his thick cock to the hilt inside her wet, welcoming cunt. Her muscles clenched around him and he saw _stars_.

“C’mon Varric.” Hawke panted, breaking their kiss to roll her hips. “I thought you said I was in for a _ride_. I didn’t realize it was on the back of a _mule_.” 

He growled and shoved her against the edge of the tub, trapping her between his body and the hard marble. His hips drew back only to surge forward, drawing a pleased moan from Hawke’s sinful lips. 

Maker, she drove him to the brink. And for the love of Andraste, he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

The brutal pace was exactly what they both wanted, what they both _needed_. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub, Hawke’s fine tits scraped up against his fine chest hair. Their mouths met, bruising and punishing, all teeth and tongue. He could taste the fire inside her, the spark of madness that always seemed to ignite the best _and_ worst parts of him. 

“C’mon Hawke.” He snarled, snapping his hips forward. “Don’t leave me hanging. I’m not stopping until you cum on my cock.” 

“Is… is that- a promise?” She gasped, raking her nails down his broad shoulders. “Because I’ll take my- _Varric_!” 

He felt her topple over the abyss in the way her touch came perilously close to drawing blood. She screamed again, muscles clenching and rippling, drawing him to his own breaking point before he buried himself in her with a grunt of finality. When he spilled into her, the pleasure felt like nothing else he’d ever had. 

He actually almost passed out because _she_ was a desire demon and _he_ was far too old for this. 

The silence stretched peacefully for a moment, another. He pulled her into his arms and allowed them both to float in the water, stroking his knuckles down her spine. Hawke curled into his chest, pressing a saccharine kiss to his cheek. 

“Nicely done, Serah.” She mumbled. “Maybe I’ll give you a discount after all.” 

“Maybe _I_ ought to start charging.” Varric muttered. “Those are fine dwarven orgasms you’re getting.” 

She giggled, pressing her forehead to his. “This? Why, Varric, _this_ is just good, clean fun.” 

**Author's Note:**

> From Pornzammar with Love, [@cartadwarfwithaheartofgold](https://cartadwarfwithaheartofgold.tumblr.com/)


End file.
